I'd kill to sleep, but pills are gone,
and shadows veil the torch of dawn
that no longer reaches my lung
the way it did when we were young.
A bitter ending to decay
is wrapped around my throat's display
of emptiness without your hands
to strangle with perverse demands,
and I worship every hour that passed when you were awake.
Now I torture every flower that grows on your hallowed grave.
Black swans circle barbed-wired gates,
cursing the gods born from inmates
who still value these conditions,
praising stigmatic incisions...
I could never be like they are.
The burning source of one new scar
singes chains that will not let go
of everything they used to know,
and I swore to the razor that it wouldn't touch me again,
but the rusty nails of combat keep molesting plastic flesh.
Now my words have no enemy.
The river was deceiving me
because currents were way too strong,
and I should have known all along
that the coldness of love's night skies
would match how much I miss the lies.
Amphetamine floats through my vein,
but has no effect on the pain,
and I'd rather die than dissolve the way I am this evening
because it's hard to be absolved from sins that shouldn't exist.